One night at about 2:00 a.m. in Alaska, Mike and I were awakened by the phone. It was a friend of mine from school (I was in college then) and she was near hysterical. She had gone to a college party at one of the frat houses, and the drunken idiots had decided it would be a good idea to drown a mother cat and her 3 kittens (for a lark!) Jackie had managed to save the kittens, the mother was dead, and she had no idea what to do with the babies. We were in the middle of a nasty storm, but my hubby, bless his heart, drove me to Anchorage to pick up the precious cargo.
When we got home and unwrapped the package, there were three of the cutest babies I have ever seen. A black female, a black and white male and a silver tabby- not even 2 days old. They were wet and shivering, and I plugged in my high intensity lamp and we rubbed them briskly trying to get them to come back to life. I mixed up the formula and then it was feedings at 2 hour intervals, we brought in the whelping box, piled it high with soft cloths and plugged in pet heating pads to compensate for what they lost in body heat.
Over the course of the next few days, the female died but the two males thrived. Even before his eyes were opened, the silver tabby was always exploring, climbing up over the top of the box looking for Mike or myself, prompting us to name him Gulliver. His brother was named Norton, and they were two of the 5 animals that we took with us when we moved here to Oregon.
Gulliver and Nortie both, gave us such pleasure. Gulliver was 6 when he died. He had contracted a cold and it moved to his lungs and became pnuemonia and even though he was in an oxygen tent, they ultimately couldn't save him. Kind of ironic that the cold that he experienced in his infancy, turned out to be his demise.